


A Nod Is as Good as a Wink, to a Blindfolded Man

by wynnesome



Series: 2020 SteveTony Games [2]
Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Bad Sex, Blindfolds, Communication Failure, Condoms, Consent Issues, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Crack, Explicit Sexual Content, I'm Sad; Someone Please Write The Fix-It, Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn, Smut, SteveTony Games, Team Angst, Tony Stark Cries, Tony Stark Cries During Sex, Trauma, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24832477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnesome/pseuds/wynnesome
Summary: The beings from the ship had brought Steve and Tony their terms.To satisfy the ritual, one must penetrate, and one be pierced. Hardened flesh or steel; they had their choice. The consequence, should they fail to consummate, was the death of a continent. They were given a private chamber to deliberate and then act upon their choice.Steve was the first to say it. "I'm sorry, Tony. It's us or... countless lives at stake. You know we have to."It wasn't as though Tony would considered have any other option, either.(It's a classic "Aliens Made Them Do It" situation... with a couple of ironic, angsty twists...)
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: 2020 SteveTony Games [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786930
Comments: 18
Kudos: 73
Collections: Team Angst





	1. A Sweet, Slow-Acting Poison

**Author's Note:**

> _Written as a fill for the "Mutual Pining" square for Team Angst in the[SteveTony Games](https://stevetonygames.dreamwidth.org/). Bonus prompts are "Aliens Made Them Do It," "Unreliable Narrator," and "Blindfold."_
> 
> (Another one that was intended to be a ficlet of a few hundred words... This one ended up 3.5k. Yet again, Go Angstsplosion!)
> 
>  **Canon setting:** I'm writing these guys as 616 Steve and Tony, but ambiguous as to era/time period, and not connected to any canon events. The Tower (as opposed to the Mansion) is mentioned. Clint is on the team and appears in Chapter 2. No other Avengers are mentioned by name.
> 
>  **Content Notes:** I elected to tag "Chose Not To Warn" relating to several consent-based issues. The questions of consent do go beyond the inherent nature of an "Aliens Made Them Do It" situation. **Please see ending AN for details of the consent issues and the PTSD/Trauma tag (spoilers for elements of the story).**

The beings from the ship had brought Steve and Tony their terms. 

To satisfy the ritual, one must penetrate, and one be pierced. Hardened flesh or steel; they had their choice. The consequence, should they fail to consummate, was the death of a continent.

They were given a private chamber to deliberate and then act upon their choice. The centerpiece of the suite was a massive platform covered in layers of rich-looking fabrics, not quite, but resembling closely enough to be called, a bed. Investigating further, an unobtrusive door led to an "outside" courtyard area where a lawn of not-quite green not-quite grass bordered a flat oval of hard-packed not-quite dirt. Several racks of melee weapons lined the perimeter. 

This, then, was the battleground, for those who chose "fight" over "fuck."

In silent agreement, they wandered without speaking for a while, splitting to opposite sides of the oval: a short, not-quite reprieve from what they must face.

The not-quite sun shone not-quite yellow. Everything felt not-quite real.

Idly, Tony hefted a couple of axes and a mace, more than anything, just to have something solid in his hands, the reassurance of metal. Decently forged and balanced, he found, despite even the weight and sheen of the alloys feeling subtly off. Looking up, he saw Steve, across from him, doing the same. 

Their gazes connected, but neither smiled.

When their curving paths reconverged, they went back inside. 

Steve was the first to say it.

"I'm sorry, Tony. It's us or... countless lives at stake. You know we have to."

"I know. Good of the many, like I've ever refused that price. Hell, good of the ten, or the three, or the one, you know I'm the first to fling myself in the path. Except when you are."

"And if it could always be me, you'd never have to. So, we'll share it this time. I'm... I'm glad it's with you, Tony."

Not what Steve said, but the sweetness in it, told Tony this was more than something now and new. It was the worst possible time and means to have it revealed. 

He wanted to reciprocate, but it had been so many years of suppressing his feelings for Steve, all the things he'd never known how to say, and never fathomed would be welcome. He wanted to proclaim his feelings in return, but their current straits, this double-edged sword of duty and duress -- it was nothing like everything he'd ever longed for, and that gulf would render any declaration a half-truth, at most.

He saw it in the fall of Steve's face, when he'd hesitated too long, the air remaining empty of reply for too many moments, and the one that mattered was lost. He saw the instant when hope sputtered out, leaving Steve with the knowledge that what he felt was one-sided. Leaving him silent, glassy and still.

He wished he'd been in the armor when these alien bastards had come down, and blasted them to kingdom come for what they'd just destroyed.

"Let's just... we should get this over with," stated Tony, monotone.

Steve broke his paralysis, picking up a length of black fabric from some supplies laid out on a sideboard. Maybe a not-quite towel. What was he--? He was smoothing and twisting it into a long strip, then holding it with one hand toward each end, and raising it in Tony's direction.

"We could, ah... use this to cover your eyes. Might make it easier."

Oh. So Steve wouldn't have to see his rejection through the act. That was fair. He nodded curtly, and Steve stepped to his shoulder, nudged him around, and lowered the makeshift blindfold in front of his face, settling it from brow to bridge of his nose. Behind Tony's head he tied it snug enough to be secure, but not so tight as to bind.

Tony's shirt had been in tatters from the brawl when they'd been taken, and he didn't need his sight to let its remnants fall to the floor, to toe off his shoes and socks, and to drop his slacks and briefs. He took refuge in the false privacy, hearing rustles that he gathered to be Steve going through the same undressing routine.

Steve spoke his name in warning, and laid hands on him, guided him to the bed-platform, and arranged him on his right side. Hypersensitized by sightlessness, Tony was raw to the unfamiliar fiber texture of the sheets, to the foreign tensile factor and deep, sluggish roll of the pseudo-mattress, like a half-congealed waterbed, a slow gravity well, reluctant to conform to the contour of his body.

But Steve's touch was so warm, his palms and fingers seeming custom-molded to fit Tony's limbs. Tony's conscience wanted him to shrink away, while his skin wanted to divert more nerve-endings to the points of contact, to magnify the surface area, to hoard it in the highest possible concentration. He was proud that he didn't flinch, and he hated himself for the stolen enjoyment. The last thing he deserved was to derive pleasure from this, but the least he owed Steve was to minimize the damage, to avoid heaping him with any further hurt.

Stay quiet. Soak in Steve's attention like a sweet, slow-acting poison, and leave it till later for his future self to drag himself away in the aftermath, to sweat and shiver, agonize and purge. Expunge.

He loathed himself all the more for substantiating the excuse.

He went lax, kept himself pliant, as Steve positioned him. Though it was required that they both must reach completion, Steve, as usual, seemed to have already formulated an action plan, and Tony would let him carry it out with no opposition. Whatever he could do to make this easiest for Steve. 

Even in his misery, Tony couldn't help the flare of gooseflesh or the catch of his breath as Steve paused to trail a hand down his flank. His breath stuttered again when Steve aborted the motion halfway. Of course Steve wouldn't want to touch him any more than necessary. He had no reason to want to make Tony feel good after Tony had been the one to stomp on his offered heart.

His traitorous self felt regret, rather than the appropriate relief, at the abandoned caress. He was a selfish man, greedy for tokens he hadn't earned, even when he knew he'd forfeited any rights to having these wishes fulfilled.

Steve's weight sank into the bed behind Tony. Unnaturally even breaths hit the back of his neck. His knee was raised and pressed forward. A hand, wet with smooth, heavy liquid, slid into his cleft and rubbed at his opening. Tony knew how to relax for this. He matched his breath as best he could to Steve's regulated rhythm, and pictured the air as a release of tension from his muscles.

There was no teasing to this preparation, no heat or foreplay, but the firm, repetitive passes across his hole pulled lightly at the pucker in both directions, stimulating and sensitizing, till the tight ring eased into a giving little gap with every back and forth. It was actually soothing, and Tony let himself be lulled, lying with his head pillowed on one arm, breathing in the dry, powdery smell of the bedding. Steve's broad frame was a barricade at his back, almost disconnected from the mesmeric fondling between his cheeks.

The first finger pushed past his rim with only the slightest ephemeral burn, working itself gradually inside as if the previous motion had merely shifted to a different axis. Unconsciously, Tony started counting strokes. He was up near forty before one finger became two. He wondered if the meticulous prep was for his benefit, or more a way for Steve to procrastinate, delaying the inevitable, though he didn't know why Steve would want to prolong it past what was required for basic safety.

Two fingers pressed into him, scissored and stretched, and then three. Steve's were thick enough that with the trio spearing him open, he took a couple of clearly unintended brushes to his prostate. Each time, he swallowed a moan, his body shuddered with a quick twitch, and his dick filled a little fatter, hiked up a little higher. Each time, Steve paused in his ministrations, the brief cessation like an unspoken question, and Tony's lack of protest an equally nonverbal answer, sufficient for Steve to resume.

Without being sure how he'd reached that state, Tony was shamefully, achingly aroused. Despite himself. Despite the silence and the impersonality. Despite the underlying knowledge that they were assuredly being watched, scrutinized, for certainty of fulfilling letter and spirit of this odious ritual.

He'd sunk to a new depth, he thought, as Steve's hand slid suckingly free, leaving him vacant and fluttering. There was uneven movement behind him and a few muted sounds, and then Steve was gripping his hip, Steve's leg tucking up behind his bent one, and Steve's cock, thick and slick and blunt, nudging at his yielding hole. 

Slow and steady, it stuffed him full, hot, weighty, and artificially smooth with whatever latex-equivalent the aliens offered as a sheath. A fresh wave of despair filled the cavern of Tony's chest.

He was going to have this once and only once, and he'd never get to feel Steve bare, or be flooded with his come.

Steve's other arm wormed its way underneath Tony to wrap around and hold him in place. Steve thrust into him, precise and controlled, his pace as measured with his cock as he'd been with his fingers. 

Starting careful, Tony thought. Of course, Steve would be mindful of his strength. He'd speed up once he could tell Tony could take it.

Or he wouldn't. Tony was counting again. Ten. Twenty. And Steve did not vary. 

A rasp to Steve's breathing, deep in his chest, was the only suggestion of urgency, as his hips pistoned steadily, and Tony's dick throbbed, untouched. 

Balls slapped. Lube squelched. Flesh turned slippery with sweat. 

This was obligation. It was penance. But still, Tony grew feverish with the need to be battered fast and merciless, to bottle back his screams till they burned his throat as surely as if he'd shouted himself hoarse. He was that far gone for Steve Rogers, or just that hopelessly perverse, to let his mind transform coercion into his own cheap, sordid fantasy.

The fantasy wasn't for sale, though, regardless of price. The reality was Tony, blind and passive, and Steve, passionless as an automaton, moving inside him.

Tears streamed into fabric, sobs disguised as grunts, while Tony pretended he could see Steve's eyes lit with joy, and not Steve's face full of sorrow, like a ghost of regrets hovering in the darkness behind the blindfold. He wanted to writhe and wail, beg and provoke, till self-control snapped and they surged together in the rise to the finish. Instead, he was held fast, pinned, stifled. 

He didn't, he didn't want this anymore...

A switch inside him flipped. Compliance to resistance, frustration to fight. It made no difference to Steve's relentless possession of his body. Tony bucked in his hold, and Steve clutched him tighter. Chin hooked over Tony's shoulder, Steve growled in his ear.

"C'mon, Tony, almost there, you gotta go, too."

His hand on Tony's hip snaked down to fist Tony's cock, corkscrewing and thumbing over the head, short and tight and too dry, with just enough precome to make it rub instead of glide. And then he broke rhythm, driving into Tony with hard, pounding jabs. Tony bowed against him and came with a choked-off keen, an acrid taste in his throat, and little of any pleasure, his release thin and sharp and stinging like a burr twisting down his spine.

Hollow as it was, he felt his climax trigger Steve's, felt him clench and pulse. Steve barely paused before pulling out with a muttered "sorry," and moving away, leaving Tony to groan to himself and curl down into a shaky ball, half in his own wet spot, feeling the pull of strained, sore muscles. Lube dribbled out onto the sheets, and he hoped, hysterically, that they had good alien stain-guard, and then thought, fuck the aliens, and then thought about their DNA, and the bad idea of leaving bodily fluids behind.

Steve's voice cut in, with a clipped edge."Tony? You can take that off now." 

Oh, right, the blindfold; he could do it himself, since the cloth had enough stretch to pull over his head with no need of fumbling for the knot. He blinked a few times, and refocused, and Steve was offering a solicitous arm for him to stand, but he bypassed it, standing stiffly, and also bypassed looking Steve in the face. 

Steve already had his pants on, so Tony didn't have to take a gander at the dick that'd been inside him, or Steve's ass, as Steve gathered the bedding and tucked the bundle under his arm. Must've thought of the same thing Tony had.

Tony took the opportunity to give himself a cursory wipe-down with some conveniently provided alien towelettes, stuffing those into a pocket after re-dressing his lower half and retrieving his ruined shirt.

As soon as they exited the chamber, the aliens were waiting for them with obsequious bows and caftan-like replacement garments. It seemed the ship had been en route back to earth during the... proceedings, and by twenty minutes later, they were returned to the landing pad atop the Tower and permitted to depart without further ado. Guess they'd had their whatever-they-needed all nice and blessed, and didn't have to spare another thought for the multitudes they'd held hostage to the outcome. 

Tony hastened away, ignoring Steve calling his name, other than to call back over his shoulder: "Burn those."


	2. Agonize; Purge; Expunge

Shower, work, sleep, and food. And not thinking about Steve. Those got Tony through the next two days. When Clint called to ask if he had a few minutes, he walked into the common room, and almost walked right back out again when he found not just Clint, but Steve, waiting there. Team business, though... he squared his shoulders and made himself stay.

Clint was sitting at the end of one couch, leaning with his elbow on its arm. "Thanks for coming, Tony," he greeted. "Haven't seen much of you guys since the, uh, aliens brought you back from the, uh, thing, the other day, and we, the rest of us, wanted to check in with you."

Steve, standing with his arms crossed, frowned. Tony's stomach rolled over, and his mind raced.

What was there to ask? As far as the rest of the team was concerned, Steve and Tony had been taken captive, freed themselves, and made a safe return. He'd write that in a report. At some point. Or had Steve already done so, and been a little too forthright with the details? Completeness vs personal information that concerned Tony's privacy, too -- which would have won out? Tony's hands and jaw were clenched. He tried to sound casual.

"We're back safe. What did you want to know?"

"Just wanted to, uh, see how things went," said Clint, shiftily.

Tony risked a glance at Steve, who raised his hands. "We waited till you got here, Tony. This is the first I've heard, too."

"Arrrggghhh!" Clint banged his forehead with the heel of his hand, repeatedly. "Fine! I'll just say it! Did you guys bone, or what?!"

Their outraged protests came out over the top of each other, Tony's hot, and Steve's icy cold.

"How the hell did you find out about--" Tony snapped his mouth shut and dropped into the nearest chair, bracing his hands on his knees.

"That is none of your concern," Steve bit out.

"Fuuuuuck," Clint muttered. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid of."

"Out with it, Avenger," Steve ordered. Civvies or no, and no matter who was acting Chairperson, that was the voice of their Captain.

Clint massaged his temples. "Ok, look, we were all sick of you two circling around each other, you know, so we called up the Guardians and asked if they had any galactic pals who could arrange some kind of orgy, or fertility ritual, or sex-something-or-other... Turns out, some friends of theirs run this exotic-fantasy fulfillment service, so we..." He sighed gustily. "It was supposed to get you to admit your feelings and whisk you away for a great weekend fuck-cation in the alien honeymoon suite. That's all."

"Well, didn't quite work out that way. Thanks anyway." Tony spoke directly to his lap.

Steve's eyes went wide. "But we fought when they nabbed us, we hurt people--"

"Alien LMDs!" Clint broke in. "All part of the setup! Granted, their clients generally know why they're there, and only put up a token protest, so I think you might've done a little more damage than usual, but it's all covered by the deposit!"

"So there was never any threat? If we didn't--" The hint of a blush appeared high on Steve's cheeks.

Looking scandalized, Clint jumped to his feet. "No! Of course not! It's a game -- apparently you wouldn't believe how popular the 'aliens made us do it' scene is, even if we all know it's blatantly speciesist--"

Steve nodded crisply. "I see. Well, it's good to know there were never any lives in danger."

"And the whole team was in on this," Tony confirmed.

"Yeah." Clint finally had the decency to look abashed, his gaze flicking back and forth between the two of them. "We all thought you were-- it was-- a sure thing."

"And now you realize how wrong it was to have done this without our knowledge or consent?" Steve asked pointedly. Disappointed Cap also existed completely independent of his uniform.

Scrubbing his face with his hands, Clint admitted, "Yeah. I guess it was pretty shitty."

Tony was fine with letting Steve continue to handle this from here. He wished he could put the blindfold back on.

"Thank you for acknowledging that. Fortunately, the Avengers are bigger than this, and Tony and I are adults, and we'll continue to be able to work together in the field."

Did that mean Steve had considered quitting the Avengers? Tony would never have let that happen. He'd quit, himself, before he let Cap leave the team over this. Over anything.

Clint looked as horrified as Tony felt, and clearly hadn't thought of that potential repercussion, either. "That's... that's good, Cap. Steve. Good to hear."

Steve looked thoughtful. "All right, thank you, Clint. I think we're done here."

"But wait, you never said-- enquiring minds want to know, and all that-- did you...?"

"Leave it, Clint," Steve said, wearily.

Clint shut his mouth and turned to go, looking dejected. Tony took that as the cue for his dismissal as well, and fell in a few feet behind Clint, shuffling toward the door, only to be pursued by Steve's voice plaintively calling his name. 

He heaved a sigh and pivoted back around, pasted on a smile, and forced himself to meet Steve's eyes for _one, two,_ ok, that was enough, before breaking the contact. ,

"It's all fine, Steve, like you said. Always an Avenger with you. No hard feelings. Plenty of business to take care of, though. Still working on catching up from the, you know, unexpected 'weekend off.'" He tossed out a wave that tried to be jaunty and fell flat. "See you around."

"Tony, wait," Steve said hurriedly. "I want to try to fix this. I know what we did back there wasn't... very good, but isn't there... Couldn't we put it behind us and try again, the right way this time? Even if you don't feel quite as much for me, it's ok. I still think we could be something good."

Tony squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep breath before opening them again. "Nothing to fix, Cap. You had a little thing for me. I'm sorry you had to find out it wasn't mutual. And we both did what we thought we had to do. Look at the bright side! At least you got to have me once--" 

_\--trapped by Steve's unmovable strength, held down and spread open with no power or option to call a stop--_ He pushed the memories behind a curtain, black as an alien blindfold.

"I'm sorry if I couldn't live up. Probably better to have the disappointment over now, than before we... made the mistake of dating, or anything." It was hard to say the words for what might once have had a chance to be. "You're a great guy, Steve. A real catch. You'll find someone who can love you back the way you deserve."

"But it won't be you."

Steve looked so forlorn that Tony almost wanted to reverse himself, throw it all to the wind, throw himself into Steve's arms, beg his forgiveness, and fight for the impossible fairy tale ending. Impossible, though. That was the key. No matter how he yearned... or once had. Inflicting himself on Steve wasn't something he could, in good conscience, consider.

Tony smiled again, this time smaller and softer, more real, more wry. "No. It won't be me."

**Author's Note:**

> **Detailed Content Notes (spoilers)**
> 
> **Consent Issues:**  
>  **1.** Aliens Made Them Do It. Steve and Tony agree to have sex, but it's to avoid consequences, where they wouldn't otherwise be sleeping together.  
>  **2.** Because of Tony's Disastrous Communication, Steve thinks Tony very much does not want him/the sex, but continues because they've both agreed to fulfill the AMTDI situation.  
>  **3.** There is a point where (explicitly, from his POV) Tony begins to find the sex actively unpleasant, but because of the AMTDI scenario and his own unhealthy mental state, does not explicitly indicate his wish to stop. He does attempt to physically struggle, but he is being held tightly enough by Steve that he doesn't have much range of motion. Suggested but not made explicit in the text (because still Tony's POV), and in my authorial intent, Steve interprets the movement as Tony approaching orgasm, and they complete the act. Tony never reveals that he was actually fighting Steve's hold at that point, nor that he experiences residual trauma afterward.
> 
>  **Trauma:**  
>  At the end of the fic, Tony tries to joke with Steve about what happened between them. He does not have a full-fledged flashback, but he is hit pretty hard with his disturbing memories of the experience.


End file.
